


to pour love upon you

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Headspace, M/M, Touching, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: Based on a prompt that wanted some focus on how Dean and Cas touch each other, "or maybe like a cas centric fic thinking about the way dean touches him, holds him, realising is always grabbing him and quite forceful even when they cuddle or whatever, as if dean was perpetually afraid of cas disappearing".Some moments caught in-between the busy daily scenes.





	to pour love upon you

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on Nov 20, 2015 [here](http://hamburgergod.tumblr.com/post/133581779313/me-do-you-have-any-prompts-emilie-id-kill-for).
> 
> written for a good friend, Em.

Any time Dean is near enough, he’s always touching Castiel, somehow.

It’s gradual, both the learning process and the frequency of Dean’s touch, but once the first dam is broken, it’s suddenly as if Dean’s never _not_ been touching Castiel.

And through Dean, Castiel learns that there are many different meanings behind each of these touches.

They hold hands. Most times in the comfort of their own privacy, but sometimes in public during fleeting moments, when Dean pulls Castiel away from danger, or when he tugs him towards the car with a passing _let’s go home_. Were it before, Dean would’ve grabbed onto Castiel’s forearm to pull him back up from the ground, or maybe curl his fingers around a little tighter than necessary, giving Castiel a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before he let go, leaving a hollow space where his hand should stay.

He doesn’t let go, now.

Dean runs his thumb along Castiel’s knuckles sometimes—when they talk across the table, when they’re sitting side by side after Dean’s announced that he feels like going for a drive and whisks Castiel into his passenger seat.

Castiel wonders whether Dean notices that he does this, or what goes through his head when he feels the bumps and dips against his calloused fingers. The casual act overwhelms him sometimes, with how Dean can touch them without recoiling away from his hands that have done many things, and he wants to shamefully hide them away, away from Dean. Once Castiel had confessed this, and Dean had wordlessly kissed forgiveness unto each and every joint. Castiel doesn’t dare to say more after that, should Dean give him again more than what he possibly deserves.

On some days, when Castiel is walking in the hall, or looking for something in their kitchen, or doing anything around the bunker, he would sometimes cross paths with Dean, who had been occupied with other things during the day. As soon as they meet eyes, Dean stalks over with a smile and pulls him into a tight hug, tucking his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck. As if he’d been looking for Castiel all along, even though they both know that that’s not the case, that Dean just happened to walk by where Castiel is.

At that moment, there is nothing but Dean. The way his body rises and falls as he breathes, the smell of their laundry detergent along with the scent of Dean himself, not unpleasant but distinct. Along with his tight embraces, Castiel hears the unsaid _I love, I love, I love,_ so loudly that he can hardly encompass the burst of affection he feels for Dean in return.

And the hug goes on, for far too shorter than either of them want. “There you are,” Dean would say, and Castiel would ask if he needs anything. He’d only grin with a shake of his head, and they’d go back to doing whatever they were doing.

They cuddle. Dean refuses to say the word because he hates the sound of it for some reason, but it’s what they do on the couch when they’re watching something together, often with Sam wedged in on the other side. In the backseat of the car sometimes, when Dean’s had his wind knocked out and he’s in no state to drive, and needs the physical touch to be reassured that they survived yet another hunt. Or it’s Castiel, thrown to the wall by the monster of the week, with his head cradled by Dean’s warmth and by the gentle rumble of the car. Dean combs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel thinks it’s meant to be soothing, the way they deftly card through his locks and massage his scalp. The touch is tender, and it grounds Castiel back from the height of the hunt. It’s home.

Some nights they will be in their bed, and Castiel will suddenly find Dean huddled against him, clutching onto him like he’s trying to cage Castiel in, to chain him down, yet so _careful_ with how he grabs on, like if he grabs too hard then Castiel really will leave for good. A desperate plea, in fear of making itself known.

And instead, instead Castiel feels protected, wanted. At the same time, he wishes he knew how to prove to Dean that he isn’t going anywhere, not anymore, not if he can help it. How many times will it take for Dean to understand that his place is right here, right beside Dean where he’s free to hold him as he wishes? Maybe ten, maybe thousands. Maybe it will take them their whole lifetime. Either way, he’ll be right here to prove it to Dean again and again.

There are more. Of course there are more, like how Dean casually bumps his hips against Castiel when they’re brushing their teeth, how he slings his arm around him sometimes when he says something funny and vibrates against him as he laughs, how he kisses him on the top of his head to announce his presence. Each moment is a cherished one, and Castiel is sure that he can rummage through them until the end of his time, if he wants to.

But he doesn’t. Or rather, he isn’t given the time before there are more touches to be processed, to be cherished. Dean forces Castiel to live in the present with his constant presence, and Castiel thinks it’s good for both of them, with how they had always lived being chased by their pasts. Maybe like this, they can finally move on to the rest of their lives. 

Maybe, they’re already there.


End file.
